


Lost It

by paperface



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Camille's haunting him, Daylighter Simon Lewis, Grumpy Alec tags along, Insomniac adventures with Luke, Luke is such a dad, Mix of show and book elements, More like vampmares, Off-canon slightly, Simon's having nightmares, Simon-centric, They're people too (kind of), Vampire existential crises, Vampire's having existential crises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7618030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperface/pseuds/paperface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon bolts up, twisting in the sweaty sheets. Moonlight is filtering through his open window and if he were human, his heart would be beating a thousand times a minute. It's all so vivid—the blood, the sweet scent of her hair, the pain— </p><p>Turns out vampirism isn't as simple as everyone thought. Simon keeps having nightmares and there's only one person he can go to—Raphael.</p><p>Or, Simon struggles with being a vamp and is pretty sure he's lost it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost It

It always starts the same. 

Simon's in the park. It's a nice day, sometime in fall. He's watching the brown leaves tumble and crunch under passerby's feet. He's waiting for Clary. Even though it's a dream, somehow he knows it's before the Shadowhunters and Jace and Valentine and all that. It's weird how conscious he is in the dream, how real it feels. The park bench underneath him is hard and peeling. He is watching himself wait and somehow he knows the Simon on the bench is thinking about Clary's graphic novel, how talented she is, how envious he is of her talent, how he's itching to read it. 

He hates that it starts like that. It has to be on purpose. There's thunder and the sky darkens and it rains. Everyone runs for cover except for Simon. He's sitting on that bench with a pleasant smile on his face. Then she comes out.

The ground opens up like it's a fucking Greek myth and she's beautiful and terrifying. Camille’s eyes are black and she’s dressed in black and her fangs are out, dripping in black blood. Perception shifts, and now bench Simon and sleeping Simon are one. She stalks toward him from across the park, from that gaping hole in the earth. Simon feels, every nerve of his body tingling. He starts to cry; he hasn’t felt like that since before he was Turned. That’s what confuses him; he’s both Simon the vampire and Simon the human. His heart is beating in his chest again and it hurts. 

The storm is brewing, only over Marine Park, and Simon’s skin feels the chill. It shivers, it wants to be inside, warm and cuddled up in a blanket. The tears come faster, freezing his face. It’s all going to go away, Simon knows as Camille inches closer, all this humanity is going to eek out of him and she—is—going—to—make—it— _hurt_.

Camille is in front of him. She is beautiful, truly. No one ever talks in these dreams. Human Simon swallows and spreads his legs so she can sit on his lap. Vampire Simon stirs. His fingertips go cold. When he touches Camille’s thighs, he doesn’t feel anything. They kiss and Camille’s mouth tastes like the inside of a cave by the sea. Salty and windstricken and lonely and empty. Simon fills it and his body grows colder and colder. Blood rushes through him as Camille pushes against him. Simon feels old, wheezing and crumbling and turning into dust. 

Camille pulls back, her fangs tinged red. Blood runs down Simon’s chin. It’s warm. He knows it’s coming—knows and dreads it—but her black eyes fix him one last time and he stares out at the park that was once full of children and laughter and sunshine. She tilts her head, trails Simon’s neck, licking it. It feels nice, like the last day of summer. Simon closes his eyes. It happens—Camille plunges her fangs into his neck and it stings and she sucks and Simon is screaming in the middle of Marine Park and no one can hear him. He is screaming and kicking and dying and it is excruciating. The sun is burning through him and it will burn out everything he has ever loved and then it will leave him empty and cold like a cave by the sea and no wave, no matter how strong, will reach him. 

The world is blurring. Camille is cold on top of him. Simon wants her in a mechanical way, because he’s supposed to, because he has to. She pushes him sideways so his back is on the bench—he doesn’t feel the hardness anymore, he doesn’t feel the rain—and Simon is fading, fading into Camille.

 

Simon bolts up and it’s like a wave is pushing him down, but he fights it. He’s in his room. Camille is not here. Camille is not going to bother him again. 

It’s been a hot, dry summer. Simon’s window is cracked open. Moonlight and dusty yellow light from a nearby lamppost filter in. He doesn’t sleep like he used to. Maybe, he wonders, he doesn’t have to sleep at all. The sheets are tidy. His vampire body doesn’t fidget in his sleep. His mother has noticed; she’s walked by when he’s left his door open. “You sleep like you’re dead,” she’d said, before giving him a sympathetic smile. “That internship must be working you hard.” 

Nightmares were supposed to leave you shivering and sweaty and tangled up in your bed with your heart beating out of its chest. It’s five in the morning. Simon gets up, slips into clothes. The air is restless. Simon can feel everything but himself. There is a pit in his stomach. He doesn’t understand anything anymore. 

If his mom notices, he’ll lie. It’s become easier. They needed him at work, he’ll say, non-negotiable. His internship is a phony company Luke made up for him. The younger wolves don’t mind creating a fake website and Twitter. They love it. Anything to get out of doing dishes. 

Simon glances at his bed before he creeps out of the house. It’s too tidy, like a hotel bed no one’s slept in. It’s not right. He tears the sheet off and balls it up, watching it satisfaction as half of it unrolls off the bed.

 

“Simon?” Clary’s voice is perky. It is five-thirty. Of course she’s up. They don’t talk about it but Simon knows he’s not the only having trouble sleeping. 

“Hey.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Simon’s outside now, but nothing makes sense. He does not want Camille in his head. He does not want to feel her in his dreams. 

“What are you doing up?” Her voice is loud—her mouth is too close to the receiver. She must be painting, cradling the phone with her shoulder. She’s been painting every day since Jace left. Was taken, she will correct firmly if he dares bring it up. He was taken. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Coffee or scary movie?”

Simon laughs. “Neither.” 

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“What are you painting?” he asks before she can question him. What would he say? _I dream of fucking Camille on a park bench and she drains the life out of me and I feel like I’m dying and no one can save me._

Clary sighs. “It’s—I don’t know yet. We’ll see. It’s for Alec.”

“Alec? Alec Lightwood?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He doesn’t seem like the kind to enjoy paintings. Especially if they’re from you.”

“Simon Lewis, do not call me at five in the morning and knock my artistic endeavors.” 

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Why are you up anyways?”

“I—“ He can’t find the words. Simon leans back. He can feel the park bench. It’s confusing. He is cold and his heart doesn’t beat and he knows he loves Clary but can’t feel it like he used to, but he can feel pieces of wood that have been vomited on and covered with bird droppings. 

Marine Park is not pretty tonight. It is empty and small. Simon is hot. He shouldn’t feel at all, but the air is muggy and thick and humid and it feels like he can’t breath. He can’t breath but he wants to and he tries and he can’t. Nothing stirs in the park. Even the pigeons have gone elsewhere. It is too hot for anything to be out right now. 

“Simon?” Clary is concerned. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” he lies. “Make sure you’re good.”

“Of course I’m good.” Defensive. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Clary is quiet. The line is quiet. He can’t even hear her brushstrokes. “Why don’t you stop by Luke’s? The restaurant?” 

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re talking to loud to be at home. You’re not with me so I’m guessing your alone. It’s five in the morning, Simon. Go to Luke’s.”

 

Luke doesn’t greet him at the restaurant door, if that’s what Clary was expecting. Instead, Alaric shepherds him in through the back, ducking behind dumpsters and cars. Alaric makes Simon bend down so he’s almost crawling. 

“Is this really necessary?” 

“Course.” Alaric looks around the empty parking lot, sniffing. He has clocked two squirrels. He has warned them with his eyes. 

“Why?” Simon’s shirt falls into his mouth. 

“Luke said to protect you.”

“I’m a vampire, I can protect myself.”

Alaric snorts. “Yeah, you really frighten the bejeezus out of me. Stop!”

They pause behind a Dumpster. It smells of rotting flesh and shit. Alaric pushes Simon down to the ground. He bangs his head off the Dumpster when he falls. The smell is stronger down here. Alaric is leaning forward on his haunches. His nose is elongated, like a wolf’s. They wait in silence. Simon does not dare to move.

“Never mind.” Alaric’s nose snaps back to human form. He shakes his head then stands up, offering a hand to Simon.

“What’s going on?” Simon asks. His shoulder hurts and he is tired. 

Alaric squares his shoulder. “I shouldn’t tell you, but it’s probably best that you know. So you can be aware.”

“I agree. Tell me.”

“Some vampire’s out looking for you. Luke said to be careful. You mean a lot to his daughter.”

“Clary. She’s my best friend.” 

Alaric raises an eyebrow at him. “Vampires don’t have best friends.” He then pulls Simon by the collar and drags him into the restaurant. 

 

The kitchen of the Chinese restaurant has been turned into a giant sleepover. Alaric and Simon have to step over criss-crossing sleeping bags. It’s the cubs. Some of them are talking, some are on their computers, faces light up the backlight, clicking away. A couple are sleeping, snoring lightly, their ears furry and noses long.

“Why do they look like that?” Simon nodded at a sleeping girl in the corner. 

“Young ones.” Alaric shrugs. “Takes a little while to learn control.”

“You let them sleep like this?”

“If we could get them five star hotel rooms we would. Come on, stop staring at the sleeping girls. They’re underage.”

“I’m not—I was not—“ Simon gapes, his face burning. Alaric lets out a deep laugh. It’s not contagious. He prods Simon in the back to make him walk.

“I was _kidding_. Luke told me you were funny.”

“Luke has been wrong,” Simon mutters. 

 

Someone is shoving him. Simon opens his eyes. It’s Luke. Simon recoils. The sun is out, bathing the entire restaurant in burning golden light. 

“Take a minute,” Luke says. He looks well-rested. It must be morning, because Luke is wearing a fresh shirt and his leather jacket. Simon can smell the detergent in the shirt. It’s citrus. 

Simon yawns out of habit. Luke seems amused by that. He’s fallen asleep under the counter. Across from the counter, a girl is sitting in a booth with her knees up. She is looking at the two of them. When she catches Simon’s eye, she grimaces and turns away. 

“Clary told me you were coming. What’s up?”

“I’m tired.” Simon doesn’t know why he says that.

“You slept for four hours.” It’s not an accusation. Luke pats him on the back. “Alaric had to leave you. You dozed off waiting for me.” 

“I didn’t dream,” Simon realizes. 

Luke continues, “I would have come sooner, but we had, ah, a small issue—“

Right on cue, Simon catches a pair of boots stomping by. “Let’s go,” a clipped voice says. 

Simon looks up with bleary eyes. “Alec?”

It is Alec. Alec looks down on Simon with his perma-frown. “Did you…sleep here?” 

Simon sat up, trying to have some dignity. Luke hides a smile. “Yes, I did.”

Alec opens his mouth, then closes it. He is trying to understand. “Vampires don’t sleep,” he says finally. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

At the word _vampire_ , the girl in the booth let out a derisive snort. Simon’s jaw clenched. He wanted to fight her, push her up against a wall, sink his fangs into her—

“Maia,” Luke says in a calm voice. His eyes are on Simon. Maia stops laughing at him. 

Alec scowls at Maia. “We’re not done yet.”

“Alec.” Luke’s voice doesn’t have the same affect on the Shadowhunter. 

“The Clave clearly states—“

“Your _Clave_ can shove it up my ass,” Maia says.

Luke sighs, one hand over his eyes, as Alec and Maia bicker. “It’s been like this since last night.” 

“We are going to the institute!” Alec proclaimed while Maia made a strangled noise.

 

Maia was a new werewolf. She’d come to the city on her own, and fell in with a couple of loose cubs. They raised a little hell, she’d fallen behind, and the Clave was onto her like that. Alec had been sent to get her, since she’d broken a number of accords, a struggle had ensued and they’d both ended up back at Luke’s, glowering, sweating and nursing what they swore to be lifelong grudges.

Luke tells all this to Simon as they walk to his pickup truck, but Simon doesn’t care.

“What vampire is loose?” he asks instead. “Who are you protecting me from?”

Luke pauses, and Alec nearly walks into him. His head is turned backwards, retorting to every spitfire insult Maia quips up. 

Luke does not stumble. He studies Simon’s face. “You’re safe, that’s what matters.”

Simon puffs up. He’s feeling a bit strong because, well, he’s not really feeling anything. “I tell you what matters.” Between Maia and Alaric and Alec, Simon is dying to prove he is a real vampire. 

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Tough-Tooth, I see. Camille’s out. Everyone’s looking for her.”

“That,” Alec says, “is classified.”

“You put the ass in classified,” Maia mumbles. 

“Everyone get in the car.” Luke rolls his eyes. “Damn children.”

Alec reaches for shotgun.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Maia knocks his arm away. “Why do I have to sit with the vamp?”

Simon’s puff deflates. “I’m not going to bite you.”

Alec is incredulous. “I’m a foot taller than you. I get the front.”

“I’m not going to die because of my height.”

“I will not bite you,” Simon shouts.

Maia turns on him. She is quaking with fury. “I’ve dealt with your kind. I’ve _killed_ your kind.”

Alec makes a strangled noise. “Hence, the institute.”

Maia points a finger at Simon. “Monsters. Sick monsters. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t want you near me.”

Alec steps between them. One hand gently nudges Simon behind him. His face is hard. “That’s a person you’re speaking to.” Maia shakes her head but Alec continues. “And you may have a grudge about vampires, but that doesn’t allow you to make judgments about whether or not they deserve to die. This is Simon Lewis and he is a person and you will sit with him in the backseat and you two will act like civil human beings because, surprise, _that’s what you are_.”

Maia scowls but heads into the back of the truck. She slides all the way to the opposite door. 

Simon pauses, thinking of something to say. Alec never stood up for him before. “Magnus is a good influence.” It’s lame but it’s all he has. Alec doesn’t respond. It’s better that way.

When Simon gets into the truck, Maia pushes herself further into the door, nose crinkling. Alec slams the door and pushes his seat back, forcing Simon to pull his knees to his chest.

_Thanks, Clary, I really feel protected._

When they drive, Maia and Alec fight over the directions. Luke glances back at Simon. Simon thinks of Camille.

 

Alec takes Maia into the institute. Luke is not allowed in. They don’t trust him because of Valentine. Valentine turned him into a werewolf. Simon wonders why they think a connection between the two men still exist. Simon stays in the truck too. Luke won’t let him out of his sight. But Simon is allowed in the front seat. 

The AC is on. Simon directs it to his face. He is burning. 

“You’re lucky the sun doesn’t kill you.” It’s the first thing Luke says to him. 

“I know.”

Luke made Alec bring him a beer. It’s empty now. Luke crushes it and tosses it out of the window. It lands in the trashcan across the street. Luke looks pleased with himself. 

“What are we waiting for?” Simon asks. He is anxious. He is thinking of Camille. Even though he is immortal he feels like she’s going to kill him. 

“Clary.” The amount of duh in Luke’s voice is annoying. 

Simon shifts away from him and into the door. “I don’t want to see Clary.” The words are true, but just realized.

Luke does not react. 

“I mean, I still love her. Nothing’s changed but…She was with the Shadowhunters all that time, you know? It’s different. We’re different. She’s them and I’m me.”

“A Shadowhunter and a Downworlder,” Luke clarifies.

“Yeah. Except all the other Downworlders hate us too. And most of the vampires hate me.”

“Because you can walk in daylight. You’re not like them, Simon.”

“I am, though. I have dreams, Luke, dreams of-of— _Camille_. And drinking blood and dying and when I wake up I want to rip someone’s throat out and I have to run out of my house at five in the goddamn morning because I don’t want to kill my own mom and I _am_ a vampire and I don’t know what to do—what?”

Luke is smiling. “You just said ‘God’.”

 

When Clary comes to the car, she is in tears.

Luke is immediately alert. “Clary, what is it? Jace? Valentine? What’s happened?”

Clary shakes her head, looking down. When she looks back up, her face is scrunched and red. Simon leans forward, concerned. “Alec ripped up my painting!”

Simon chortles and leans back, not before Clary slaps him. “Not funny! I worked on it for ages!” 

Luke is staring at the roof of the car. “Kids. Goddamn _kids_.”

“Here.” Clary shoves her phone into Simon’s face. There’s a picture of her painting. It is good. “He ripped _that_.” It was Alec and Jace. Simon notices Jace is slightly bigger than Alec, takes up more space. 

“It’s…good.” 

Clary rolls her eyes and snatches her phone back. “You’re hopeless.”

“I like your brushstrokes?” Simon tries half-heartedly as Clary stomps into the back of the truck.

“He’s been such an asshole lately.”

“Who, Simon?” Luke asks.

“No, Alec.”

“Thanks.” Simon grimaces.

“Ever since Jace—“ Clary can’t finish the sentence. “Ever since it happened, he’s been the worst. I’m just trying to help!”

“You’re very emotional,” Luke says slowly. “I’m sure Alec is the same way. However, he feels the need to hide it—“

“It’s his fault,” Clary says. “Jace came to him for help and he turned him away. He knows it’s his fault. And I’m trying to not be mad at him and I’m making him paintings and cookies and soufflés”—“Soufflés?” Simon questions—“but I think through it all, I’m just really, really mad at him. I almost hate him.”

“He hates himself too, Clary,” Luke says. “He needs space.”

“We’re friends. You need your friends.”

“Friends can fight. You clearly want to fight him.”

Clary is quiet. They are still outside the institute. Simon tilts the AC fan closer to him. He is sweating through his shirt. It shouldn’t be possible, but it is. He feels more confused than ever. Luke, he is starting to realize, for all his good intentions, doesn’t have the answer. 

“I just want us to keep pretending everything is okay and it’s like before,” Clary says quietly. “Why can’t they just play along?”

“Things change, Clary. Friendships change. You need to go to the people who can help you. Alec needs work and rules and reassurance that if you follow the steps, everything turns out alright. You need to paint and create a world where everything is alright. Those mindsets aren’t compatible. Connections exist solely on the present, how you feel. The past,” bitterness seeps in the voice of Valentine’s ex-best-friend, “doesn’t matter as much as we want it too.”

Simon’s heart is thumping as Luke’s words sink in. He knows where he has to go. He is restless, has been restless, yearning to run. So he pops open the door, jumps down from the seat and takes off like a bat out of hell. Luke yells after him and starts the car, but Simon’s a vampire. A car’s not a match for him.

The sky is gray by the time Simon makes it to Hotel Dumort. It’s still humid, thick air pressing down on him like the hand of God, hellbent on pushing him out of existence. Simon’s mouth is coppery. He can taste blood. 

He’s not nervous as he walks in the hotel. Camille couldn’t be here. Her former clan would tear her to shreds. Wherever she is, the Shadowhunters will find her. A little voice in Simon head says it wishes they don’t. It wants to find Camille, tear her apart, bite her, send that black poison through her veins. Simon is in a vampire hotel. He’s stopped silencing that voice. It’s part of him. He can’t fight it. 

The hotel is as decrepit as it was the last time they were here. Of course then Simon still thought of himself as human. Vampirism was like forced veganism; he’d have to drink bagged blood, but it wouldn’t really change his life, would it?

Simon heads to the upper level. He sees him there. His back is turned to Simon sees the dark hair, the snow-white skin, the short build. Simon is still tan. 

“Raphael.”

“Simon,” Raphael says without turning around. 

“I’ve been having dreams.” He’s come this far. Why beat around the bush? It’s not like he and Raphael have a habit of exchanging pleasantries. “Camille’s in them. And she—she turns me, I guess. But it’s weirdly sexy and provocative.”

“I believe it’s called a wet dream.” Raphael still doesn’t deign to look at him.

“Bullshit. I’ve had those before and they were actually enjoyable. This was terrifying.”

“Maybe you’ve uncovered a kink.”

“I need your help.” 

At that Raphael turns, eyes curious.

Simon shrugs helplessly. “No one else understands. No one else can help.”

“No one _you_ know,” Raphael adds because he is still bitter that the Daylighter has human friends, Shadowhunter friends, werewolf friends. “I’m the only vampire you know. Besides the lovely Camille, of course.”

“Tell me what the dreams mean.” It’s drafty in the hotel and Simon shivers. Hotel Dumort is out of time, out of space, out of the same atmosphere the rest of New York is in. “I wake up feeling so lonely.”

“You are lonely.” Raphael is not unkind. “It happens. We need each other, Daylighter. Just like the humans need each other. Your problem is—“

“But I don’t want to be a vampire,” Simon bursts. “I had _plans_ , I went to school, I wanted a girlfriend and good grades and a degree, and I was going to get an internship—a real fucking internship—and move into my own house and I was going to be broke and in debt and it was going to be terrible but awesome because I’d have my own place and I am supposed to grow old and get glaucoma and have medical marijuana and all my plans are human and _what am I supposed to do now_?” 

Simon’s chest is heaving. He’s running a fever, sweating everywhere. It’s all so wrong. 

Raphael staring at Simon now, smirking. “Are you done?”

“Yeah.” Simon looks down, shuffling his feet. “Well, there’s more I can say, obviously, because my dreams aren’t that lame. Like Clary and I were planning on doing a graphic novel series, which apparently has been put on hold to paint pictures of _Jace_ which just—really? Like, you’re really doing that? I don’t know, it’s weird to me—“

“Okay.” Raphael holds up a hand. “You’re done. I say you’re done. Any more will give me a headache.”

“Fair enough.”

“You have to accept you’re a vampire. Otherwise you will be alone for the rest of your life. Because no one else understands what you’ve been through but us.”

“You mean the Turning?”

Raphael gives a slight nod of the head. “Yes. It is far more intimate than one might suspect. We are not in the habit of sharing our cultural secrets with Shadowhunters and werewolves.”

“But I don’t want to be a vampire,” Simon says to his shoes.

“You whine so much.”

“I want to feel things.”

“Are you stupid?”

Simon glances up. “Huh?” 

Raphael has a very disturbed look on his face. “We do feel things, you idiot. _Díos_ , you really know nothing of vampires, do you?”

“In my dream,” Simon starts. 

“Camille is manipulating you. She is your sire, and she has a connection with your subconscious. Think of it as an Oedipus complex, or something. The dreams you have of her mean nothing.”

“Can I get them to stop?”

“Do I look like I study your subconscious? It’s all up to you Simon.”

“Well, then how to I learn to feel things?”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “You don’t _learn_ any of this.”

“Raphael, please.” Simon’s sweat sticks his shirt to his body. He grabs the hem to air it out. 

“It’s socialization,” Raphael says finally. “It’s the reason vampires live in clans. Lonely vampires, they stop feeling. On our own, we do not feel. We can remember feelings. But when we are together, we feel. The connections of our memories, the connections humans have among each other, we have among each other as well. If you are properly socialized, then you may start to feel on your own. Some call it the regaining of the soul.”

“So I have to come here,” Simon says. It’s like a vampire rehabilitation center. He imagines playing ping pong and jugging back blood bags. 

Raphael nods. “We always have room. Find an extra bed and it is yours.”

“Thank you.” Simon mulls it over. If he lives at the Dumort, he really will be a vampire. He wants to fight it, crawl into his childhood bed and stay there forever. Then the pit in his stomach comes back, the loneliness of never being understand, loneliness that can crush his heart and turn him bitter. _I am a vampire_. “I’ll move in tomorrow.”

“Good day, Daylighter.” Raphael turns around. “If you accept Camille as your sire, if you accept your vampirism, you may still have dreams, but they will not have a hold over you.”

Simon turns to leave.

“Simon,” Raphael calls out. “We are not all monsters here.”

 

Outside the Dumort, the sky is gray and rumbling. Simon calls Clary.

“What the _hell_?” is the first thing she says.

“Sorry.”

“Simon!”

“It was something Luke said—“

“About you being an asshole?”

“No. Just—I had some things to sort out. Vampire things. It couldn’t wait.”

“Oh.” Clary’s anger dissipates. She can’t understand _vampire things_. Simon holds back from telling her about moving into the hotel.

“Where are you now?” Simon walks to the subway. The sky is thundering. The air isn’t trying to kill him anymore. “I can meet you.”

“I am actually back at the institute.”

“Luke forced you and Alec to kiss and make-up?”

“Something like that. After he strongarmed his way into the institute and let me tell you, Maryse was not happy.”

“I can picture that.” Simon feels the air all over his body. Maybe Raphael is right. Maybe vampires feel differently and if he stays with them, he will learn how. Right now, he feels the temperature of air, how it’s becoming colder, and goosebumps raise on his skin. He doesn’t fight the feeling. It doesn’t feel unnatural anymore. Alec had said he was still human. Raphael had said he’s a vampire. Simon has found the middle ground.

“I’m glad you called,” Clary is saying. “There is actually something I wanted to tell you.”

“What?”

“We’re going after Jace.” Clary doesn’t sound broken or scared. “Me and Izzy and Alec. We have to bring him back.”

Simon pauses. People push past him—it’s still New York City, after all. He leans back into the wall of a building. “Okay.”

“We have a plan,” Clary says, the words rushing out. “Alec has a plan. We need to find Camille. She knows where they are. That’s why she broke out. She’s trying to join them.”

“So step one, find Camille. Step two, find Jace. Step three, get killed by Valentine?”

“It’s not a perfect plan,” Clary admits. “Jace thinks he’s a monster, Simon. We have to prove to him he’s not. He’s worth saving.”

“I’m in.”

“What?”

“You could use a vampire to fight another vampire.” The wind picks up. Simon can’t help but smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Um, meet us at the institute then?” 

“See you soon.” They hang up. Simon’s still smiling. His adrenaline is pumping, he is happy, he is ready. He looks up at the sky and finally the heat breaks and it starts to rain.


End file.
